


a sundae kind of love

by gothyringwald



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Pre-Season/Series 03, aggressive flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25925029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: If ice-cream makes Billy sick, why has he come into Scoops every single day for the past week, sometimes ordering more than one serve? Whatever the reason, Steve’s determined to find out.AKA the one where Billy’s lactose intolerant, but it doesn’t stop him from eating ice-cream and aggressively flirting with Steve
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 42
Kudos: 317





	a sundae kind of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hexlibris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexlibris/gifts).



> For Hex because we realised we both had lactose intolerant!Billy headcanons <333
> 
> I left out any of the more unpleasant details of eating too much ice-cream when you’re lactose intolerant :P
> 
> Also, the fic starts with Billy and Heather on a kinda date but I didn’t want to add a tag for them because it’s just that one bit?

Billy has a clear line of sight into Scoops Ahoy from his table in the food court. Harrington hasn’t shown up, yet, but Billy’s poised to strike.

Across the table, Heather is chattering away, oblivious to Billy’s true interest. Billy had thought he’d been doing a decent job of pretending to pay attention to her, but she must realise he’s distracted because the next moment her puff of hair obscures his view. He turns an ‘I am one hundred per cent paying attention to you, and only you’ grin her way and she blushes, faintly, settling back into whatever she was saying.

Maybe Billy should feel bad, at least a little. It’s just that Heather’s _cute_ , but she’s not—

A familiar head of dark hair comes into view behind the counter at Scoops Ahoy. Billy’s blood tingles.

‘I want ice-cream.’ Chair legs screech across the floor as Billy stands, smiling down at Heather. She’s blinking up at him—he’d cut her off mid-sentence—so he pours some honey into his voice and says, ‘Want one?’

‘Sure.’ Heather’s frown gives way to a dimpled smile and she stands, smoothing down her skirt.

A wave of irritation rises up and Billy has to fight to push it back down. He was going to get the ice-creams alone, give Harrington shit for a few minutes, like he’s been doing every day this week, then come back. But now… Now, he gets to sit at Scoops, watching Harrington while he eats his ice-cream.

Yeah. This is better. He picks up his pace, dodging shoppers, weaving through the tables, barely aware of Heather a step behind him.

There are a few girls at the counter and Billy huffs, hands clenching at his sides. He turns to Heather, licking his lips. ‘You get a booth, I’ll order for us.’

‘OK,’ she says, and walks off, hips swinging.

Billy watches her a moment, then turns back, in time to hear Steve say something about setting sail on an ocean of flavour. Billy snorts; the girls don’t seem much more impressed and, to Billy’s delight, turn Steve down, leaving with their ice-creams.

‘Permission to come aboard,’ Billy says, stepping up to the counter, and giving a little salute.

Steve’s shoulders slump and he rolls his eyes. ‘What do you want, Hargrove?’

‘Well, now, that’s just rude.’ Billy leans on the counter, aware of how his shirt falls open, and how Steve’s gaze darts to the swathe of tanned skin. ‘You invite those girls to set sail on an ocean of flavour and I get “What do you want?”’ He shakes his head. ‘And here I was thinking I’m your best customer. I’m wounded.’

Steve’s jaw clenches but a pretty flush has risen to his cheeks. ‘Like hell you’re my best customer.’

Billy ignores him. He leans in and, voice low, says, ‘Let me know if you need a first mate,’ adding a wink for good measure.

The air crackles between them, charged with electricity, and it’s one of the times Billy is _certain_ he’s not the only one who feels it. Steve’s eyes flicker to Billy’s mouth—a brief dip, but Billy catches it—but then he steps back and says, ‘Just…hurry up and order.’ He nods somewhere over Billy’s shoulder. ‘Your date’s getting impatient.’

Billy casts a look back to where Heather is sitting in a booth, tapping her nails on the table, head in one hand. He waves at her, and she waves back. ‘She’ll keep.’ Billy turns back to Steve.

Steve makes a face. ‘How do you get dates when you’re such an asshole?’

‘Pure animal magnetism, baby.’

There’s a beat—Steve crossing his arms over his chest, looking Billy up and down—and then Steve says, ‘Look, do you want ice-cream, or not?’

‘Well…’ Billy is about to ask Steve for some testers, drag things out a little more when Heather sidles up to him.

She curls a hand around his elbow and says, ‘I forgot to ask for fudge.’

‘But you’re sweet enough already.’ Billy ignores Steve’s snort—like _his_ lines are any better.

‘I know,’ Heather says, ‘but I still want fudge. Chocolate.’

‘You got it,’ Billy says, waiting for her to go back to the booth, but she stays standing beside him. Billy grits his teeth and places their order.

Steve scoops out the ice-cream into boat-shaped dishes, his long fingers curled tightly around the scooper. It makes the veins on the back of his hands stand out even more than they usually do.

Fuck. That shouldn’t make Billy— Billy shifts and says, ‘Taking your time, there, sailor. I want my ice-cream _before_ it melts.’

Beside him, Heather huffs out a laugh, but Steve ignores him, drowning their sundaes in fudge, before placing two cherries on top.

‘Well, you know how much it is,’ he says, setting them on the counter with a weary sigh, ‘you’ve been here enough.’

‘Put it on my tab.’

Steve takes a deep breath, like he’s trying not to rise to Billy’s bait and says, very slowly, ‘We don’t do tabs.’

‘You can’t make an exception?’ Billy picks up the cherry, sucking it into his mouth. His lips slide along the stem as he pulls the cherry free, and he wonders if this is too far, but Steve only mutely shakes his head. Billy fights a sigh and slides some money onto the counter. He says, ‘See you ‘round, Cap’n,’ and takes their sundaes back to their booth.

‘We could’ve shared one,’ Heather says, daintily scooping some ice-cream onto the long-handled spoon. ‘That would’ve been nice.’

‘Yeah,’ Billy says, offhand. He’s paying more attention to Steve behind the counter, chatting with his co-worker. Some chick wearing too many bracelets and an expression of thinly veiled disdain.She’s kind of cute, but when Steve laughs at something she says—turning away to hide his smile—Billy grips his spoon so hard he might bend it.

What the fuck could _she_ say to make Steve smile?

‘You done?’ Billy asks, still not looking at Heather.

‘Uh, no, actually, I’m not.’ The sweetness is gone from her voice, now, brattiness edging in.

Billy looks back to her. He schools his face into another flirtatious smile and says, ‘I thought you might wanna get out of here,’ voice low.

Heather leans across the table and says, ‘I wanna finish my ice-cream first.’

‘Anything you want,’ Billy says, hiding his irritation. If he weren’t so pissed off, and his stomach wasn’t gurgling in protest as he spoons another heap of ice-cream into his mouth, he’d be impressed. He likes a girl who can give it back. Heather’s cool, and she’s pretty, with her dark hair and big eyes, but she’s still not…

Billy scrubs a hand over his face and shoves more ice-cream in his mouth, biting down on the spoon.

They finish their sundaes and leave the store side-by-side. Billy casts one last glance over his shoulder, but Steve isn’t looking at him. His stomach turns and he’s not sure he can blame it on the ice-cream.

—

‘Hey, Harrington’—Robin’s voice comes through to the backroom where Steve is taking his break—‘your best buddy’s here!’

Steve nearly topples back on his chair as he jumps up, rushing toward the front of the store. Dustin must be back early from camp.

Steve shoves the rest of his banana in his mouth, wondering how Robin knows Dustin is his best friend when she hasn’t even met him. It doesn’t occur to him to be embarrassed that Dustin is his best friend because Dustin is awesome. But when he rounds the corner his stomach swoops and his pulse jumps.

Billy Hargrove is leaning against the counter, grinning like an idiot, wearing one of those stupid, not even remotely sexy, shirts no one taught him how to button up. It’s the fourth day in a row he’s come in, and Steve is pretty damn sure he’s doing it just to piss Steve off.

It’s working.

Steve doesn’t get it. Billy mostly avoided Steve at school after that night, but since school let out—forever, which Steve is _not_ thinking about—Billy’s been different.

Not hounding Steve with that mean edge like before, and certainly not keeping his distance like after. There’s a playfulness to the way he’s been coming into Scoops every day, _pestering_ Steve. Steve can’t fucking stand it.

Steve rests one hand on the counter and levels Billy with what he hopes is an unimpressed look. He tries not to glance down at the smooth expanse of his tanned chest.

Billy meets Steve’s gaze, eyes half-lidded. ‘Don’t you have some little greeting you’re meant to say?’ he says, waving a hand. When Steve remains silent, Billy raises a brow and says, ‘Well?’

‘Ahoy,’ Steve deadpans. ‘Now, what do you want?’

‘Gee, I don’t know,’ Billy says, ‘maybe some ice-cream.’ He points at Steve. ‘And a little less attitude.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Steve says, cocking a hip. ‘Ahoy, sir, can I interest you in one of our fine frozen treats today?’

‘Hm.’ Billy tilts his head, squinting up at the menu, the corner of his mouth twitching. Two girls are waiting behind him, but they don’t seem to mind that he’s taking his time. They’re more engrossed in giggling as they ogle Billy’s backside in what Steve knows are ridiculously tight jeans. ‘I want a tester before I commit to anything.’

‘It’s ice-cream, you don’t have to marry it.’

‘I wanna make sure I spend my hard-earned cash on the good stuff.’ Billy licks his lips, eyes dark as he peers at Steve. ‘You got any suggestions?’

Steve’s mouth goes dry. The divide of the counter feels too small. How does Billy do this to him, every single time? Whatever it is he’s doing. It’s infuriating and confusing and leaves Steve all mixed-up and turned around. It’s worse at night, alone in his room, with nothing to stop the thoughts and the _dreams_.

Someone snaps their fingers in his face. ‘Earth to Harrington,’ Billy says.

‘What?’

‘You gonna suggest a flavour for me to test?’ Billy’s grinning again and Steve wants to scream. ‘You know, speaking of flavour, I’m still waiting for my invitation.’

‘What invitation?’

’To set sail on that ocean of flavour with you.’

And there’s the confusion again. Because if Steve didn’t know better, he would think Billy is—

But no. He can’t be. Steve doesn’t want him to be. And even if Billy _is_ , it’s probably just to fuck with Steve even more.

‘Um,’ Steve says, ‘what about vanilla?’

‘Vanilla? Seriously?’ Billy looks Steve up and down. ‘Never pegged you as a vanilla kind of guy.’

Warmth pools in Steve’s gut. ‘Well, can you hurry up and choose? There are other customers waiting.’ He waves his hand at the girls behind Billy, but they only go starry-eyed when Billy turns around and apologises, the timbre of his voice smoother than USS Butterscotch.

‘We don’t mind waiting,’ the one with a big, fluffy ponytail says. Her friend shakes her head, then nods, face bright red.

‘Have you tried Keel Lime?’ Steve asks.

‘No,’ Billy says, turning the full force of his wolfish grin back to Steve, ‘would you recommend it?’ A pink tongue darts out to wet pinker lips. ‘In your expert opinion.’

‘Sure.’ Steve turns to the freezer, scooping some Keel Lime onto a sample spoon.

Billy takes the spoon, his hand brushing Steve’s, and licks the ice-cream off. With a very slow, very exaggerated, swipe of his tongue.

The freezer does nothing to extinguish the fire that burns through Steve. He shifts his weight, thankful that he’s wearing an apron _and_ standing behind the counter, and says, ‘What’s the verdict? That a winner?’

‘It’ll do,’ Billy says, ‘this time.’

This time. Great. That means Billy will be back. The worse thing is, deep down, Steve wants him to. He sighs and scoops out a full serve, glancing over at Billy. ‘No girlfriend, today?’

‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’ Billy’s lips tilt and he winks. ‘I’m footloose and fancy-free, pretty boy.’

Steve ignores the skip in his pulse and hands Billy the ice-cream, careful not to touch him this time. ‘What about that chick the other day? With the hair.’

‘Just a girl,’ Billy says, something careful in his eyes and his voice. ‘You jealous?’

‘No, she’s not my type.’

Billy rolls his eyes, but Steve can’t figure why. ‘How much?’

‘I said I’m not—’

‘For the ice-cream,’ Billy says.

‘On the house, if you promise not to come back.’

Something flashes over Billy’s face, too quick for Steve to register, but then he smirks and slams a two-dollar bill onto the counter. ‘Keep the change.’ He swipes his tongue over the ice-cream, then turns and walks out of the store. He only takes two steps before he throws the ice-cream in the trash.

‘Asshole,’ Steve mutters under his breath, shoving the money in the till. The girls waiting in line behind Billy had followed him out, so Steve slumps, turning to find Robin giving him an odd look. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She holds up the whiteboard and points to a new tally mark. ‘But you suck.’

‘What, but I didn’t even strike out, or anything!’ Steve winces at his choice of words, but Robin has already turned away. ‘ _You_ suck,’ Steve says.

She flips him off. ‘Great comeback, Harrington.’

Steve rolls his eyes. This is _not_ how he wanted to spend his summer.

—

‘I asked for sprinkles.’

The chick behind the counter raises a brow, voice flat when she says, ‘Good for you.’

Irritation flickers behind Billy’s ribs, but he douses it and points at his sundae. ‘Do you see any sprinkles?’

She doesn’t even glance at the sundae, just rolls her eyes and picks the dish up. Billy stops her. ‘Thought you wanted sprinkles,’ she says.

‘Not from you,’ Billy says, ‘Harrington messed up my order, he can fix it.’

‘Well, he’s on his…’ She trails off, looking somewhere behind Billy. She sucks in a breath and yells out, ‘Steve!’

It’s not enough to startle Billy, but his hands clench on the counter. He throws a glance over his shoulder, turning fully when he sees Steve coming back into the store. His hair is freed of his hat, and there’s a bounce in his step, and he’s _whistling_.

‘What?’ Steve says, then his gaze slides to Billy and everything in him shifts. ‘You can’t want more ice-cream,’ he says. ‘You’ve had three sundaes, already.’

As if on cue, Billy’s stomach rumbles.He crosses his arms and says, ‘You forgot my sprinkles,’ tracking Steve as he walks back around the counter.

The chick flicks her eyes between the two of them, shakes her head, and walks off.

‘Are you serious?’ Steve says.

‘Well, I’m not laughing.’

‘Fine. You want sprinkles,’ Steve says, dipping a scooper into a jar of candy coloured sugar, ‘have some sprinkles,’ and dumps the whole lot onto Billy’s sundae.

It should piss Billy off, and it does, but he’s more impressed than anything. But he still glares hotly at Steve and says, ‘You expect me to eat this?’

Steve shrugs. ‘Looks good to me.’

‘Then you eat it,’ Billy says, cocky as ever. He doesn’t doesn’t expect Steve to stick his finger into the middle of the sundae, scooping up a heap of ice-cream and sprinkles, and lick it off. But that’s what he does and Billy goes hot all over.

Steve smacks his lips, sprinkles caught in the corner of his mouth, and says, ‘Tasty.’

Billy swallows thickly. ‘Well, I’m not eating that, now.’

Steve stares him down a moment, then says, ‘Yeah, OK, I’ll make you a new one.’

Billy’s gut churns. ‘With sprinkles.’

‘With sprinkles.’

And then there’s a sharp pain, stabbing Billy low in his gut. Heat prickles in his neck and face. Fuck, not now. Distantly, Steve is saying something while making Billy his new sundae, but Billy can’t hear it.

He has to go. Now.

He turns, coming face to face with Max and her band of nerds, but he shoulders past her even as she asks what he’s doing here. He ignores his co-workers yelling out from the table where they were waiting for him—Heather only glares—making a swift exit from the store.

—

‘Is your brother OK?’ Steve asks, staring across the counter at where Billy had been, only a moment ago.

Max shrugs one shoulder. ‘Probably not, if he ate any ice-cream.’

‘Why?’

‘Ice-cream makes him sick.’

Steve’s brow furrows. ‘Ice-cream makes him sick?’

‘Yeah, you know,’ Max says, pulling a face, ‘upsets his stomach. All dairy does,’ and then she’s drawn back into discussion about what to order with the rest of the nerd squad. But it’s all background noise to Steve.

Because if ice-cream makes Billy sick, why has he come into Scoops every single day for the past week, sometimes ordering more than one serve? Steve leans against the counter, mentally going through the possibilities.

Billy’s girlfriend loves ice-cream so much and Billy doesn’t want to be shown up in front of her by not eating any. But Billy told Steve he doesn’t have a girlfriend, which hadn’t made Steve happy, not even a _little_.

Steve crosses ice-cream obsessed girlfriend off the list.

Maybe Billy has a thing for Robin. That thought makes Steve’s chest squeeze tight. But today is the first time Billy’s even _looked_ at Robin, and there’s playing it cool, and then there’s being downright icy.

Nope, Billy probably isn’t into Robin. Steve lets out a breath.

Maybe Billy likes getting sick…and, no, that’s just weird. Who _wants_ to be sick?

It’s possible Billy just loves ice-cream, consequences be damned. That seems like a Billy kind of thing, but it doesn’t _feel_ right.

And that leaves Steve with…himself. Billy loves pissing Steve off so much, he makes himself _sick_ to do it. But that’s dumb. Billy could piss Steve off anywhere, or find someone else to irritate. What makes getting under _Steve’s_ skin so good?

Whatever it is, Steve’s going to find out. He takes off his apron, flinging it over the counter, and yells out, ‘I’m taking my break,’ in Robin’s general direction.

‘You just got back from your—’

But Steve is already out of the store, taking long strides toward the closest bathroom. There’s no one at the urinals, and only one of the stalls is occupied, so Steve settles by a sink, and waits.

The toilet flushes and the stall door swings open. Billy blinks at Steve, but his surprise soon melts into a scowl. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Waiting for you.’

‘Yeah?’ Billy looks Steve up and down. ‘You always hang around men’s bathrooms waiting for guys?’

Heat crawls up Steve’s neck, into his face. ‘Nope,’ he says, ‘just today.’

‘Well, lucky me.’ Billy shoulders Steve aside, so he can get to the sink. It doesn’t seem to matter to him that there’s a whole row of them Steve isn’t leaning against.

Steve sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. ‘What are you doing, Billy?’

‘Washing my hands,’ Billy says, slowly, running his hands under the water. He turns to Steve and flicks water in his face.

‘I _meant_ ’—Steve wipes his face—‘coming into Scoops every day and ordering ice-cream.’

‘It’s an ice-cream parlour. Should I order pizza?’

Maybe Steve should let it drop. Maybe he won’t get past the wall of Billy’s sarcasm. But Billy’s been such a dick and Steve wants—needs—to know why. So, he says, ‘Max told me ice-cream makes you sick.’

‘Max is a little blabbermouth.’ Billy isn’t looking at Steve, but he’s tense, jaw hard and shoulders tight. ‘And she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’

‘Yeah? Then how come you had to make a run for the bathroom?’

‘Guess you just give me the shits.’

Steve huffs. ‘Look, man, whatever you’re doing, could you maybe get your kicks some other way? This job is shitty enough as it is.’

Several expressions pass over Billy’s face—nothing Steve wants to recognise, but they make his stomach turn, the sick feeling that he’s said the wrong thing welling up—before the smug smile Steve is used to appears. ‘Gee, I’m sorry for making you do your job.’

‘C’mon, how would you feel if I came to the pool, every day, and gave you shit.’

‘Damn, Harrington, you trying to get me all worked up, thinking about you in your swim trunks.’ Billy waggles his brows, tongue visible between bright white teeth.

Heat rushes Steve and, fuck, he can’t tell if Billy’s joking anymore. If he wants Billy to be. He could ask… ‘Are you…’ Just come right out and ask. Easy enough, but— ‘Just…quit it, OK?’

Billy slams his hand into the sink. ‘Jesus Christ, you really don’t get it, do you?’

And there’s that sick feeling again. It’s not too late, but it’s easier to play dumb, easier to bullshit himself, so Steve says, ‘Get what?’

Before Billy can answer the bathroom door bangs open and a guy in an Orange Julius uniform walks in. Billy jerks back—when had he leaned in so close—and says, ‘Don’t worry your pretty little face, Harrington, I’ll keep out of your dumb hair,’ and stalks out of the bathroom.

Steve stares after him, certain he’s missed something important. It niggles at the back of his mind, but he can’t—or doesn’t want to—bring it to the light. He lets it stay circling in the dark and goes back to Scoops.

The thought that he knows exactly what Billy was doing, that he’s known all along, keeps popping up, but he refuses to look at it too closely. For the first time this summer, he’s grateful for both how mind-numbingly boring his work is and for Robin’s ceaseless stream of mocking.

Anything is better than wondering if Billy has been flirting with him all this time.

—

It’s been three days since Steve cornered Billy in the bathroom, and Billy hasn’t stepped foot in Starcourt once. It’s not like him, to back down, but he also knows when he’s wasting his time. It doesn’t matter how he’s _itched_ with the need to see Steve, because Steve doesn’t want to see him. So, Billy’s kept away, avoiding Starcourt entirely.

Until today. Billy stares sourly at Scoops Ahoy through a wall of fake plants, while he waits for Max. Apparently, she was in desperate need of the new Madonna record, or some shit, and Billy _had_ to drive her out to the mall. Billy told her to take the bus, but his dad had overheard, and Billy relented with one look from him.

Billy drums his fingers on the table. Where the hell is Max? And when did she start listening to Madonna, anyway? Billy’s going to have a serious talk with her about her taste in music.

Right after he goes over to Scoops and… No. He’s made enough of an idiot of himself—and made himself sick enough with all the fucking ice-cream he’s eaten—and he’s done.

Billy couldn’t have been more obvious without shouting, ‘Hey, I’m queer, wanna make out?’ or maybe reaching across the counter and pulling Steve smack bang into a kiss. So, if Steve didn’t get it, then either Steve didn’t _want_ to, or he’s as straight as he seems. Even though, sometimes, Billy could _swear_ Steve looked at him the same way Billy knows he looks at Steve.

Maybe he could just go over and…

Fuck it. He’s _done_ with Steve. He pushes away from the table and stalks off to find Max. He doesn’t glance at Scoops, no matter how much he aches to.

—

A red cursive script spells ‘Tofutti’ across the cart out front of Scoops Ahoy. Steve frowns and props a hand on his hip. The cart wasn’t here when he came in, and he’s wondering what kind of jerk sets up an ice-cream cart out front of an ice-cream parlour.

There’s a guy behind the cart giving out free samples, wearing a normal polo shirt and no stupid hat. He looks Steve over and says, ‘Come to check out the competition, huh?’

‘Uh, I guess.’ Steve jerks a thumb back at Scoops. ‘Isn’t it a bit pointless setting up right outside of us?’

‘Nah,’ the guy says, ‘I can scalp your customers on their way in.’ He looks more amused than anything, even as he smirks in a way that reminds Steve of— The guy waves a hand at the cart and adds, ‘Anyway, this is soy.’

‘Soy?’

‘Yeah,’ the guy says, ‘you know, dairy-free.’

Dairy-free. Free of dairy. Blue eyes and a wicked smile Steve’s been trying not to think about fill his mind. He hasn’t seen Billy in days and it should be everything he’s dreamed of, but, fuck, he _misses_ him.

But worse than that, he feels like a dick for telling Billy to get lost. Because he should have manned up and asked Billy if he was flirting, even if it meant risking Billy’s fist in his face.

He chews on his lip and asks, ‘So if regular ice-cream made someone sick, could they eat this?’

The guy nods. ‘Sure. Plenty of people eat it because they can’t eat dairy, or just because they’re health nuts.’

‘Cool.’ Steve’s heart beats hard. Maybe he can still fix this. ‘Can I grab a couple of pints?’

The guy levels him with a searching look. ‘This isn’t some kind of corporate espionage, is it? You try this out, and report it back to head office so they can decide if you wanna get in on the soy market.’ His lips quirk again.

‘No, it’s for a…’ Steve swallows thickly. ‘For a friend.’

—

The sound of knocking cuts through the music blasting from the TV as Billy lifts his weights. He ignores it, focussing on the sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and the burn in his deltoids, instead. It feels good—the sweat, the burn—and he relishes it, the way he always does.

But the knocking only becomes more insistent, breaking Billy’s flow, so he sets his weights down with a growl. If it’s bible thumpers he’s going to be _pissed_. He tears the door open, ready to chew out whoever’s interrupted him, but his tongue stalls.

‘What do you want?’ he asks, even as his heart pounds against his ribs like a double kick pedal.

Steve purses his lips—still wearing that goofy, sexy sailor getup, hair all mussed—and holds up a cooler. ‘Special delivery.’ There’s a flush in his cheeks that might be from the mid-afternoon heat, or might be something else.

Billy squares his jaw. ‘This some kind of twisted payback?’

‘What?’

Billy folds his arms over his chest, flexing his biceps. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he says, not bothering to hide his smirk when Steve’s gaze flicks to his arms, ‘why else are you bringing me ice-cream, unless you wanna make me barf, or something.’

‘That’s not… It’s soy.’ Steve licks his lips. ‘The guy said if normal ice-cream makes you sick, this should be OK.’

Billy freezes, staring at Steve through the screen door, because what the fuck? Steve had told him, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off, and now he’s bringing him _soy ice-cream._ Billy arches a brow hoping it will speak for him, because his mouth sure as hell can’t say anything, right now.

‘I packed it with ice,’ Steve says, shaking the cooler, ‘but it’s pretty hot out.’ He bounces on his toes, peering around Billy. ‘So, can I come in?’

Billy should say no. Fuck Steve and his soy ice-cream, and his big, imploring eyes. But Billy opens the door, barely waiting for Steve to cross the threshold before he rounds on him, crowding him against the wall. ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Harrington?’

The cooler is icy against Billy’s thighs where it’s pressed between them; Steve shifts it aside. ‘I brought the ice-cream…’

‘No. _Why_ are you doing this? Why are you bringing me soy ice-cream?’

‘Because regular ice-cream makes you sick.’

Billy blinks and steps back. ‘Are you for real?’

‘I think so.’ Steve gives a weak laugh, then adds, ‘I mean, figured I should look out for my best customer.’

‘Don’t tell me you actually _missed_ me,’ Billy says, stomach fluttering.

Steve gives a helpless little shrug.

‘Then why’d you tell me to fuck off?’

Outside, a car goes past, and kids are yelling and playing in the next yard. ‘I thought you were just being a dick’—Steve shifts his weight—‘but then…’

‘Then what?’

‘Look, the ice-cream’s going to melt—’

‘I like it melted.’

Steve sighs and runs a hand over his face. ‘Like I said, I thought you were just being a dick. But then I thought…’ He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘Thought _what,_ Harrington?’

‘Well, if you were coming in and acting like that with Robin, I _might_ think you were, you know…flirting with her.’

Billy’s ears ring, and his blood buzzes. This isn’t really happening, he’s dreaming, because Steve had told him to get lost, there’s no way he’s really here, saying _this_.

‘So,’ Steve says, looking up at Billy, ‘were you? Flirting with me?’

It’s what Billy’s wanted. For Steve to figure him out, but now that he has the old panic grips Billy, and denial spills out, automatically: ‘I’m not a—’

‘I’m not saying I’d mind,’ Steve says, in a rush. ‘If that changes your answer.’

Billy gives Steve a long look, taking in his earnest eyes, and the fear shining in them beneath the hope, and he knows deep down Steve isn’t fucking with him. He smirks and says, ‘Took you long enough.’

A slow, bright grin winds itself onto Steve’s lips. The air around them crackles and this time Billy _knows_ Steve feels it, too. He can’t help but grin back.

‘C’mon,’ he says, ‘let’s eat this fucking ice-cream.’ He grabs hold of the cooler, thumb brushing Steve’s. Little sparks skitter up his arm. ‘You better not have got vanilla.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

Billy tugs on the handle, pulling Steve closer. Their lips _almost_ brush, a tease of what Billy’s ached for, and then Billy thinks, to hell with it, and leans all the way in. He went through enough dairy induced pain, and he’s done waiting, now that he knows Steve wants it too.

And when Steve kisses back, hot and slow and so fucking sweet, everything in Billy screams ‘finally’. It’s every bit as good as he’d dreamed it would be, and he deepens the kiss, crushing their bodies together. Steve hums into his mouth, tongue hot and searching, but then the cooler falls to the fall with a clatter, startling them into breaking apart.

‘If you’re free tonight,’ Steve says, ‘we could go to the movies.’ He’s a little breathless, eyes and lips shining. He nods at the cooler. ‘Maybe get some more of this stuff after.’

‘Like a date?’

Steve nods.

‘I’m not eating that shit in public,’ Billy says. Steve’s face falls. Billy crowds in, heart racing. ‘But I’ve got time to see a movie.’

Steve shakes his head—‘You’re such a dick’—but he’s smiling as he slides warm hands around Billy’s waist and kisses him again.

When they finally open the cooler, the ice-cream’s melted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) <3 
> 
> I [have a moodboard on Tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/626564846565146624/a-sundae-kind-of-love-t-52k-for), if that’s your kind of thing! 
> 
> I figure that, because this is set just before S3, you can consider this the one where soy ice-cream saved Billy’s life :P (I mean, or kissing Steve, whatever haha)
> 
> Title is a play on the song ‘A Sunday Kind of Love’ 
> 
> Research:
> 
> [History of Soy Ice-Cream](https://www.soyinfocenter.com/books/167)
> 
> And that's about it. I started researching how much ice-cream cost in the ‘80s and got some decent answers, but mostly for cones, not sundaes. So I decided just to leave it out haha


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